Status: I am working on an update, but because i am a perfectionist, it's taking a while. Hang in there!
Hate Me
two
He followed me through the short entry hallway and up the couple flights of stairs to my apartment.
“Here it is,” I claimed, flinging open the door, “Not much, but its home,”
He brushed the tangles out of his bright green eyes and looked around with a tired glance.
“It’s nice,” He muttered, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his filthy jeans.
“So uh, do you have a name?” I ask, awkwardly coaxing him into the small, sparsely furnished living room.
Truth is, I just moved in about a month ago, and can barely afford rent, let alone the small amount of furniture I took from my parents’ house, or what they gave me. This included my bed, one dresser, a couch, my old antenna TV, a coffee table, and a refrigerator. Not much, but everything I needed to get by until I can purchase more.
“Does it matter?”
“I’d like to know what to call you while you’re here. Even if it’s only for a couple hours,”
He looked at me with an expression that I couldn’t quite decipher, probably trying to figure out why I was asking him so many questions right off the bat.
“You can call me Nick,”
“Ok Nick,” I said turning on the heater, “make yourself at home. You can go wherever you like, the bathroom is right around the corner, if you need anything,”
He mumbled inaudibly under his breath and walked towards the bathroom, leaving me standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.
could have gone worse, I suppose.
I laid some extra clothes out for him on the edge of the bed and flipped on the TV in the living room. Ah, white trash television.
After a few minutes,he emerged from the back room, dressed in my clothes, bearing a slightly more comfortable expression.
“Feel better?” I asked, trying to ignore the beating in my chest.
He nodded silently and sat at my kitchen table to continue what he was writing.
Not much of a talker I guess. Should I leave him alone? Or try to make small talk?
“So Nick,” I began, trying to think of a conversation that he couldn’t shoot down with the one word response he seemed to favor, “where do you live?”
“Outside,” He responded, pen still flying across the paper.
That’s when I realized, the couch he was going to sleep on, if the storm doesn’t let up, is probably the most luxurious thing he’s slept on in a while.
“I’m sorry,”
He shrugged, making his way to the couch, “I like it actually. Sleeping under the stars is incredibly refreshing, believe it or not,”
And the conversation continued this way for hours, until I went into the kitchen to get some drinks, and came back into the living room to see him sound asleep on the couch.
I prepared myself for bed, and stayed awake for at least another hour, dreading the moment where he’d insist on returning to the streets.
“Here it is,” I claimed, flinging open the door, “Not much, but its home,”
He brushed the tangles out of his bright green eyes and looked around with a tired glance.
“It’s nice,” He muttered, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his filthy jeans.
“So uh, do you have a name?” I ask, awkwardly coaxing him into the small, sparsely furnished living room.
Truth is, I just moved in about a month ago, and can barely afford rent, let alone the small amount of furniture I took from my parents’ house, or what they gave me. This included my bed, one dresser, a couch, my old antenna TV, a coffee table, and a refrigerator. Not much, but everything I needed to get by until I can purchase more.
“Does it matter?”
“I’d like to know what to call you while you’re here. Even if it’s only for a couple hours,”
He looked at me with an expression that I couldn’t quite decipher, probably trying to figure out why I was asking him so many questions right off the bat.
“You can call me Nick,”
“Ok Nick,” I said turning on the heater, “make yourself at home. You can go wherever you like, the bathroom is right around the corner, if you need anything,”
He mumbled inaudibly under his breath and walked towards the bathroom, leaving me standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.
could have gone worse, I suppose.
I laid some extra clothes out for him on the edge of the bed and flipped on the TV in the living room. Ah, white trash television.
After a few minutes,he emerged from the back room, dressed in my clothes, bearing a slightly more comfortable expression.
“Feel better?” I asked, trying to ignore the beating in my chest.
He nodded silently and sat at my kitchen table to continue what he was writing.
Not much of a talker I guess. Should I leave him alone? Or try to make small talk?
“So Nick,” I began, trying to think of a conversation that he couldn’t shoot down with the one word response he seemed to favor, “where do you live?”
“Outside,” He responded, pen still flying across the paper.
That’s when I realized, the couch he was going to sleep on, if the storm doesn’t let up, is probably the most luxurious thing he’s slept on in a while.
“I’m sorry,”
He shrugged, making his way to the couch, “I like it actually. Sleeping under the stars is incredibly refreshing, believe it or not,”
And the conversation continued this way for hours, until I went into the kitchen to get some drinks, and came back into the living room to see him sound asleep on the couch.
I prepared myself for bed, and stayed awake for at least another hour, dreading the moment where he’d insist on returning to the streets.
♠ ♠ ♠
I am looking for a co author, if you're interested please let me know!Other then that, feedback is greatly appreciated!
xoxo
Emily